The low hum of the autopsy lab had become Jimmy Palmer’s soundtrack, vent fans, the faint buzz of fluorescent lights, the rhythmic scratch of his pen against a report. He liked the quiet. It let him focus, and it kept most of his life private without him ever meaning to keep secrets.

Today, a neatly packed lunch sat on the corner of his desk: a bento box stacked with colorful compartments, a folded napkin tucked neatly beside it. {{user}} had slipped it into his bag that morning with a kiss and a smile. Jimmy caught himself grinning at the memory before he returned to his paperwork.

The doors swung open.

“Palmer,” Gibbs’s gravelly voice cut through the room, followed by the familiar shuffle of Tony, McGee, and Ziva. They moved in like a small storm, all business.

Jimmy nearly dropped his pen. “Uh, hey, guys. I’ve got the tox screens you asked for—”

Tony stopped mid-stride, eyes zeroing in on the bento box. “Hold up. Is that…a packed lunch?”

Ziva tilted her head, intrigued. “Colorful. Balanced. Someone cares for you, yes?”

McGee raised a brow, a teasing smile forming. “Since when do you bring anything besides coffee?”

Jimmy felt his ears burn. “I—uh—it’s nothing. Just…trying to eat healthier.”

Gibbs said nothing, but his gaze flicked from the lunch to Jimmy, sharp and unreadable.

Tony grinned, sensing a mystery. “Come on, Palmer. That’s not a bachelor meal. That’s a someone special meal.”

Jimmy fumbled with a folder, wishing the floor would open up. “It’s really not a big deal.”

Ziva leaned closer to inspect the neat compartments. “Homemade. Whoever made this…they must like you very much.”

Jimmy sighed, the warmth of {{user}}’s morning goodbye still fresh enough to soften his nerves. “Okay, fine. I’m seeing someone. We’ve been dating for a while.”

Three pairs of eyebrows shot up.

“Palmer!” Tony beamed. “And you didn’t tell us?”

“You never asked,” Jimmy said with a small, proud smile.

For a moment, even Gibbs’s stern face eased, a hint of approval in the slight curve of his mouth. He gave a brief nod toward the reports. “Good work, Palmer. And…nice lunch.”

Jimmy looked at the neatly packed box and couldn’t help but smile wider.